Breath of Life
by vivalablond
Summary: There he was. The face of the man she did not know whether to love or hate staring back at her. Should she be angry at him for making her believe, for a brief moment, that there was a chance for them? Or grateful for this gift, for allowing her to see what life could have been like? The last thing she felt was his hand, enclosing around her wrist.


Maybe it was the faint sound of armies marching through the streets, ominous yet still afar off. The click clack of hooves on damp, cold cobblestone, thumping in time to their thundering heart beats.

Maybe it was the fact that none of them knew exactly how much longer they had until the impending confrontation with the French guards.

Maybe it was the eerie silence that loomed over each student as they slowly filed out of the wine shop, gathering outside it's doors. Some brave students climbing the barricade, peering over, ready to signal as soon as they saw the first sight of uniforms.

Maybe it was seeing Marius up there on the barricade, ready to fight, ready to die because his precious Cosette had gone out of his life like a candle flame blown out by a gust of wind. Marius, who neither knew nor cared that there was still Eponine who watched and waited and wished that his life could somehow be spared if anything horrible were to transpire within the next few hours. Eponine, who watched and loved him from the window of the wine shop.

Maybe it was noticing Enjolras standing alone in the corner of the shop, chugging down his last gulp of alcohol with shaky hands, anything to fortify him for the night. Seeing him so vulnerable, so nervous, so _human_. Amidst quiet dread & silent panic, she felt a sharp pang of pity for him.

Maybe it was catching and involuntarily returning his desperate gaze as he turned for the door that had finally gotten her feet moving.

Maybe it was a compilation of all these things that carried her over to him in the blink of an eye.

The look they exchanged as she closed in on him was loaded with mutual understanding. He wasn't surprised by what happened next, though it happened a little rougher than expected.

Her mouth slammed against his, hands automatically reaching for his neck and hair, backing him against a wall.

Enjolras had only been kissed a handful of times in his life. None had gone too well. None had been quite like this.

To be honest, he had longed for some kind of warmth and affection, but all he felt from Eponine was desperation and the taste of misery on her bitter lips.

All he knew now was that it was extremely late into the night and he was here alone, in the arms of a young woman with soft, smooth skin and long eyelashes that brushed against his cheeks as her mouth traveled hard and fast over his own, taking his breath away.

There was no solace, no comfort or romance of the kind he'd usually associated with kissing and embracing.

They could possibly die tonight. If not tonight, then tomorrow. It was guaranteed.

This was purely animalistic, void of emotion, two drowning bodies desperate for a breath of air, lifeless figures longing for a familiar sense of humanity.

But after a moment, after realizing that this would probably be his last kiss, he came to the conclusion that he didn't want to experience it this way.

Reaching up, he grabbed her hands by the wrists, much too thin and small for his liking, pulling them out of his hair. She struggled against him, but he held tight and withdrew slightly.

She looked up at him, hurt and confusion in her beautiful brown eyes, as she caught her breath.

"Allow me." He whispered, his voice soft.

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes again were her furrowed brows. He leaned in slowly, pausing just before his lips touched her own. She stood frozen, waiting for him to move in and fully close the distance. But he didn't. At least, not yet. Instead, she felt his breath falling on the tip of her nose.

It was such an unnerving, intimate feeling, standing this close to him only to feel his soft breath tickle her face. She wanted to push forward, race through this and get it over with, like she did all the other times with all the other men. Only this time, she actually found herself craving the kiss of this rebel leader. Perhaps because at this moment, he was withholding it from her.

He leaned his forehead against hers and traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

Torture. This was absolute torture. Why was he putting her through this?

She tried to lean in more, tried to catch his mouth in another kiss, but he held her back, sturdy hands grasping her shoulders, telling her to be patient and wait.

Instead, he faintly touched his lips to the corner of her left brow, causing the oddest sensation to sweep through her.

Next was a kiss on her closed eyelid. She tried to suppress a sudden shudder.

Then her cheek. He was taking his sweet time, lingering everywhere for far too long, as if they weren't about to be attacked in a matter of moments.

Yet still. No one had ever touched her or kissed her with such absolute care. It squeezed and broke her heart into pieces. Gone was the usual brutality she had often witnessed and experienced with such intimate acts. Instead, there was something new. Gentleness.

Finally, he reached her mouth, pressing his own against hers. This, too, was an arduously slow process. But she had never in her life been kissed this way. A kiss so long and slow and tender that it wrenched tears from the depths of her dry, desert heart.

He tasted it soon, the salt drops that flowed from her eyes, racing down her face, and into her mouth. Again, she attempted to quicken the kiss, and again he slowed her down, his strong hands gripping her arms, commanding her to be _patient_. Because, while her kisses had taken his breath away, his breathed new life into her. And that process demanded some extra time. She willed herself to relax, to surrender, realizing that she couldn't have the same effect on Enjolras as she had on other men. There was no seducing him, not even if she tried, and she had. Instead, it was Enjolras who was unexpectedly guiding her, teaching her, pulling her in with loving hands that traveled up and down her arms and no further. She could trust him. She was safe with him.

Just when she was starting to forget where she was, what was happening all around her, too entranced to continue wondering what had compelled her to approach Enjolras in the first place...

A loud yell. A gunshot. He broke the kiss and slipped out the door before she even had time to open her eyes, the tug of war whisking him away.

She stepped out after him, leaving the warm and fuzzy world he created for her behind. Outside, she was met with the smell of rain and panic. Her eyes scanned the crowd of frantic men, trying to catch a glimpse of that familiar red coat. She spotted Marius up on the barricade, brave and foolish, taunting the guards, spitting in Death's face. She found herself climbing up after him with shaking hands. Just as she reached the top, angry and frustrated, ready to pull Marius down-

A shot fired. A wild cry emerged from her lips, yet felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. The sensation of falling. The feel of cold ground beneath her. Faces, all around. Faces, staring. The fall of rain, warm and welcoming. Someone was holding her, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes. She wished it was Enjolras, wished she could see his face.

She felt no pain, but it was getting hard to breath. She couldn't move. All she felt was anger as she stared up at the dark sky. As time began to slip away, she remembered how ready she was to meet death. How unafraid she had been, how willing she was to greet it with open arms. Her life had been painful, insubstantial, unfulfilling. As far as she could remember, she had roamed the streets of France already dead.

But now, after Enjolras' kiss had breathed new life into her dead corpse, she found herself experiencing death all over again. Someone had given her the precious gift of life and purpose and she did not want to let it slip from her fingers, did not want it taken from her.

There he was. The face of a man she did not know whether to love or hate staring back at her. Should she be angry at him for resurrecting her? Angry that she had not gotten to know him sooner? Angry that he had made her believe, for a brief moment, that there was a chance for them? Or grateful for this last gift, for sharing something so precious with someone like her, allowing her to see what life could have been like?

The last thing she felt was his hand, enclosing around her wrist.

Enjolras stared as his fingers wrapped around her thin hand in a weak attempt at what? Comfort? Trying to hold her down as her spirit began leaving her? He knew there was nothing else he could do.

"Eponine." Marius sobbed into the dead girl's wet hair.

_Eponine_. Her name washed over Enjolras like a wave, emptying him of emotion and feeling and life. He stood up and stared at the young students around him.

"Someone take her body." He commanded stiffly, not allowing himself to look at her again.

"Get up, men. The rest of us have a revolution to attend to."


End file.
